


Screamers

by OrphielBurrito



Series: Of time and universes [15]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Other, References to David Bowie, Science, UNIT
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2019-07-14 10:22:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16038518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrphielBurrito/pseuds/OrphielBurrito
Summary: The Children of Time have been rescued. Aetherea, Ushas' and Koschei's sort-of-clone sort-of-daughter, is lost. But the virus designed by Ushas now has a cure, and everyone gets to rest for a bit.Or not.





	1. Trust is earned

The floor of what the Doctor called their “Curiosity Square”, an infuriatingly _circular_ room that contained everything they had brought back from their numerous trips, was covered in clothing, cushions and various sorts of duvets. Tiny particles of what seemed to be dust floated in the air, reverberating light and separating it in as many colours as the eye could detect, filling the room with an infinity of minuscule rainbows. Things were flying around, buzzing, murmuring, crawling, twisting. Despite the lack of visible source of light, a warm golden glow bathed the room and the two Time Lords laying down in the middle, head to head. 

They had brought Theta and the two Koscheis back to the flat in London before heading back to their universe for a while. The children wanted to go after Ushas right away, but what good would it have done? They had no idea where she was, no idea how to find her, or what to do once they'd put their hands on her. The kids needed rest.

So did the Old Ones.

“ _We haven't spoken since That Day,”_ said the Master through the telepathic channel. _“Mad at me?_

_\- No. You?_

_\- Not more than usual._

_ \- Hate you.”  _ The Doctor sent waves of irritation through the channel, which made the Master chuckle. They had both consumed a fair amount of alcohol before consenting to his conversation and it did make everything a bit easier. One day, maybe, they'd be able to communicate in a healthy way without the help of whisky. Maybe.

“ _Little Miss Sunshine?_

_\- Asleep. Drank too much.”_

Clara was still with them, recuperating from the incident with the virus. She had faced the consequences of adventuring with the Doctor again... oddly enough, this time, she wasn't quite as upset as they'd thought. She didn't particularly  _like_ it, but she wasn't talking about leaving again. Besides, the Master seemed to enjoy her company and the feeling was mutual, which did not fare well in any way in the Doctor's eyes. Didn't matter. Not yet.

“ _Wasn't my fault. Kids escape._

_\- I know. Shouldn't have yelled._

_ \- You're impressive/scary/hot when you yell.”  _ The Master didn't use words to convey what he meant and the image was much clearer than if he did. The mental image he used to show the feeling of  _ hot _ was so evocative that the Doctor, much to their own dismay, found themself blushing slightly.

They rolled on their stomach to face him and plant a kiss on his forehead. It seemed to have happened so fast. From arch enemies to... whatever this was, in the blink of an eye, and yet... and yet they'd been chasing each other for centuries. The Doctor remembered all too well their time at the Academy, their staring at Koschei all the time, hoping to get noticed by the valedictorian of the class who buried himself in books. They remembered the Master's numerous attempts at catching their attention, which they now saw as they were.

Their long fingers trailed on the Master's features, gently, softly. He was still in pain. Dying. How had he survived for so long was a mystery – the Doctor suspected the Valeyard's regeneration trick had somehow helped in the end, although they weren't sure they liked it. That, too, did not matter. He was alive. He was the Master of survival, holding on tight to life, catching their hand in his to kiss their fingertips, his eyes closed as if he were tasting the finest wine.

“ _Trust. Bad? Shouldn't trust. But need you.”_ The Doctor's thoughts were never very coherent and it took a skilled telepath to untangle them. The Master was exactly that. He sat down, groaning from the pain in his body, feeling it clack and click and muscles getting back into place and bones sauntering away from their normal position. The second he was seated as comfortably as possible, his back resting against a wall that was breathing, he dragged the Doctor on his lap. That had become their favourite position in no time and he figured it had something to do with the Doctor's uncharacteristic tiny build. In the past, they'd almost always been taller than he was and usually stronger; not this time. This time, they were small, thin, frail. Someone else would have interpreted it as a visible need to be protected and _taken over,_ and maybe that was partly true, but the Master had learnt not to underestimate them. It was also a very cunning way of being seen as vulnerable and inoffensive. No one would ever think twice about such a fragile looking person being the most dangerous creature in the universe.

Maybe that part had been the Valeyard's doing. Although the Doctor had never been an angel and had always used intricate techniques to get what they wanted, they weren't quite mischievous enough to think of altering their appearance to look as harmless as possible. Not that they could control what was going on during their regeneration anyway, they lacked that basic skill, but the Master couldn't help but worry about how much the Valeyard had influenced their regeneration anyway.

“ _Heavy,”_ grunted the Master telepathically, in what was a very obvious lie. The Doctor didn't reply and made themself into a tiny ball. Both Time Lords refused to think about how perfectly this little ball fit into the Master's arms.

The Doctor trusted him. And they knew it was a terrible idea. A part of them still thought this was all an elaborate trap, a plan to use them and finally get to kill them. But he was the first face this face saw, he was their oldest friend, he was the only person in the entire universe who could understand them and get on their level and never leave them. There were others that had gotten them. Martha was just as brilliant as they were, for example, and Donna had been very capable of calling them on their bullshit. Those were only the most recent examples. But both Martha and Donna, as fantastic as they were, were mortals. Fragile. Unable to last.

The Master was different. They could cling to him until the end of time itself and he would still be here, standing proud and tall with his madman grin and his eyebrow raised in amusement, defying the universe to kill him and knowing it couldn't. He may have been a villain – he was a very resilient one.

“ _Shouldn't trust you either, Doctor. Killed me more than once.”_

They lowered their gaze and nuzzled in his neck. He was right. They had literally set him on fire, once. They had let Lucy shoot him, although they  _could_ have prevented it. Let him get thrown into the Eye of Harmony. Every single time. Their fault.

“ _No. No guilt. You don't get to feel guilty. It's not about you. Not everything is about you, Theta.”_

The Doctor groaned and pressed themself a bit more against him. Taking the clue, he held them tighter, scratching the nape of their neck ever so gently. He had never thought before that he would love this soft purring escaping their lips that much. Their whole body was gently vibrating, much like a cat's, and the Master sighed, content at last.

“ _Point is – trust is earned. As is love. No point in regretting now._

_ \-  _ Love?”

They had spoken out loud, to make sure that his thought matched the word – a silly idea, really, because the thought he had formulated was much clearer than any word could ever be. It was a thought full of longing, tenderness, fire, full of rage and disappointment and need all at once, and behind all of that a glimmer of hope. For him, it tasted like flames under his tongue, engulfing his insides. For the Doctor, it was the taste of bitter candy in their throat, the dizziness one gets after flying too fast, the flutter one gets in their hearts when missing a stair.

“Love” didn't even begin to cover it.


	2. Hangovers

The Master woke up in a dark room with the worst headache of his entire life. He was used to headaches, that's what generally happened to people who have a constant noise in their head and are actively dying, but he could tell this one was different. In fact, he was quite certain it had something to do with alcohol.

As he pieced the night before together, the whole ordeal became clear. Not only had he drunk enough to drown a reasonably sized boat, no, but he _also_ had not used his biological advantage that let him evacuate the alcohol from his system. In layman terms, it meant that he had finished the previous night hammered and had no clue of where he was and what had happened. 

He remembered coming to Earth with the Doctor, trying to convince them that they had to rest and wait until they were certain that the serum wouldn't harm them in the long run. Although the Doctor had been reluctant at first, they had finally given in when the Master pointed out that Clara had received the antidote too and was far more at risk than they were. True, there was the issue of the children in the Fourth Universe ( _three_ children now, dear Omega – as if two weren't enough) and Ushas and that little girl but the Master had priorities. Clearly, saving the world from Ushas's madness came long after making sure the Doctor wasn't going to die.

Or worse.

The Doctor and Clara had wanted to party. The ship had landed in Las Vegas. Why Las Vegas? The Master wasn't entirely sure. Maybe he had wanted to try the casinos. Yes, that was it, the casinos. It was so amusing to be clever enough to win without cheating even in games that were supposed to run on luck. Real randomness did not exist, not for things designed by human beings, and it didn't take him very long to figure out the algorithms behind the “luck”.

Why was he alone in that casino? Had something happened? Well, silly question, that was  _obvious._ When the Doctor was anywhere in the vicinity, something was  _bound_ to happen. A better question was what, exactly, had gone on to land him in a dark room with – oh. Restraints. He tested them for a second or two before coming to the conclusion that these were much higher grade than the ones that had been used on him when he was supposed to work on the Gate. The person who was holding him knew not to take chances. 

Shit.

Somehow it had to be the Doctor's fault. They had suggested getting drunk and he forgot to put on a disguise to go out and what happens when you're out looking an awful lot like the infamous Prime Minister who ended up killed by his wife? If he had to take a guess, he would have said that this place was either UNIT, Torchwood, or something quite similar. A trap. If he made it out of here in one piece, and there was no discernible reason why that should not be the case, he would teach the Doctor a thing or two about betrayal.

He struggled against his restraints again, knowing full well that it was hopeless. Were they alright? They had just injected themself with a serum of unknown properties to save the world again, like a jackass, and it was anybody's guess what would happen to them. So far, the effects had seemed rather mild, maybe some fever, but nothing worrying. But what if? What if it happened when he was here, locked in a cell, unable to forcibly put them to bed until they could recuperate?

He wanted to kill them for their supposed betrayal. But  _he_ would be doing the killing, not a vial of serum. It was just a matter of pride.

  


The Doctor woke up in just as miserable a state. Their head and hearts were pounding in unison and their legs were wobbly, wobbly enough that they decided sitting was an excellent activity for the next three hours. It took them that long to realize that the Master, usually awake before they were and busy making breakfast then waking them up at terrible hours, wasn't anywhere near. 

Sexy informed them that Clara was sleeping soundly in her room and that all of the odd life forms they had gathered through their travels were doing well, but still no sign of the Master. That was worrying. Where  _was_ he? He wouldn't have taken advantage of their position on Earth to run away and try to do something stupid again, would he?

The question answered itself and the Doctor let out a long groan, getting up rather painfully from the depths of their bed. Drinking. Drinking was  _such_ a terrible idea.  _Never again,_ they promised themself for what was not the first time at all. 

If the Master was out wreaking havoc, there would be signs already. The Doctor scolded themself on their naivete – of course the Master would have betrayed them and made them drink to get a chance to run away from them and do his thing. He was the Master, after all, not a lost puppy that they had kindly welcomed in their ship.

Upset and hangover, the Doctor went to make some tea, without paying any attention to the fact that the ship's console was off.

  



	3. Doctor Martha Jones

Dr. Martha Jones was used to random calls about even more random things at random times of the day. Since she had joined UNIT, it was her daily life. One day it was about fish-like aliens in Socatra, the day after an invasion of time-eating pests in Brazil, then she'd have to travel back to London because a gigantic spaceship had decided to moor right above Big Ben. Sure, there was a lot of traveling back and forth, a lot of fighting deadly creatures and getting injured in the process, a lot of paperwork. The only thing she hated was the paperwork.

After she had left the Doctor's side to work on her own, UNIT had quickly become the most obvious career path for her. She got her degree and got fast-tracked into an officer position that didn't last long: her superiors became quickly convinced that she was, in fact, the next incarnation of the Messiah or something of the sort and gave her more and more responsibilities with each passing day. She wasn't quite sure of what her grade was – because she didn't really care about all the military stuff and asked to be called Dr Jones –, she just knew that someone had called her “General” once and that hadn't sounded too much like a joke.

Anyway, calls like this were her daily life. She was used to it. She _expected_ it. But the one she received from the UNIT headquarter in Las Vegas had definitely bothered her a bit more than she would have thought.

It went something like, _Doctor Jones, we have a problem. Two Time Lords. One is restrained, the other is not, and came here on a child's scooter with glitter on it. They're ignoring us and talking. Please help._

That was going to be one hell of a long day.

  


“What do you mean, you stole a scooter?

\- I needed transportation. My ship has been turned off, unfortunately, and have you ever tried riding anything with an engine in Las Vegas?

\- If I did, I have no memory of it.”

The Master was still bound to a wall, restrained in ways that he would probably have enjoyed in another context, but looking quite relaxed. The Doctor, facing him, did not.

Their arms were folded on their chest and their entire face was a frown, a look of displeasure. This situation confirmed everything that they had feared. The Master had taken advantage of their drunkenness to run away from the ship and do something evil, only to be caught by UNIT. They would have left him to his own device if things hadn't turned out to be a bit more problematic than expected on Earth.

People everywhere had started screaming.

One second, the affected humans were fine; the second after, they were stopping dead in their tracks and screaming without interruption. It seemed that every human hearing the screams started screaming too and the epidemic was propagating fast, slowly but surely paralyzing even major cities. The Doctor had joked about driving in Las Vegas but the truth was, there weren't many busses or other forms of public transportation left working. Even car drivers were advised to stay home by the radios – those that still worked and weren't uninterrupted screaming. Most TV services had been cut.

So the Doctor had set out to reach the nearest UNIT headquarters, not quite expecting to find the Master there and especially not in such an interesting position.

“What in sanity's name did you do this time?” they growled. “ _Trust has to be earned,_ does that ring a bell?

\- Funny that you should say that,” sneered the Master in return, “I was about to say my piece about betrayal. You know, if you wanted to tie me up like this, you could just ask. It wasn't necessary to involve UNIT. And now what? What are your precious little pawns gonna do? Obliterate me?

\- You seem to be under the false impression that I have some sort of control over this situation. I did not put you here – and you should know that. I am much better at restraints than this.”

The Master seemed to contemplate that fact and ended up nodding in agreement, looking just slightly flustered. The guard that had been standing next to the two Time Lords for the entirety of their exchange decided that at this point, it was self-preservation to just run away.

“So you're not the one who put me in there?

\- Of course not. You know I am not very fond of anything public. That is why we have the cellar.

\- Doctor, I meant in a betrayal way, not...

\- Oh. Yes. No. But what did you _do?”_

The Master sighed and rolled his eyes. At the very least, the Doctor didn't betray him, which was a good start – but they were still standing here after stealing a little girl's scooter and crossing the whole city on it, ready to work against an epidemic of screaming, right after the whole virus incident. Since he didn't need to retaliate for their betrayal, he would have all the time in the world to retaliate for their recklessness when it came to their own well-being.

“Master, can you please _focus_ and stop this...

\- I'm _bound_ to have that kind of thoughts, dearest, considering the situation.”

They cast the darkest glare they had in store in his direction.

“I have no idea what I did. I have zero memories of last night,” sighed the Master. “I know we got drunk, talked, and then... I don't know. I have no clue. Maybe the bunch of idiots who works there can help.

\- We certainly can,” answered the all too familiar voice of Dr Martha Jones.

  



	4. Twisted fates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay in publishing, life has been hectic. But yay, new chapter!

“What do you mean, we're married? What is this? Master, what is going on?

\- We got drunk in Las Vegas and we were in a good mood. Need I say more?

\- What? What on Earth? How? We're not _married,_ that is _preposterous,_ and I do hope you are joking and intend to take this off as soon as you are not restrained anymore,” said the Doctor, punctuating their sentence by taking off their own ring. “We're most certainly not married. Human married, Gallifreyan married, nothing.”

Martha just stared at the two, her eyes as wide as dinner plates, unable – unwilling – to comprehend what was going on. Married? In a good mood? Got drunk? The implications of everything were too huge for her to accept them, to believe in them. Surely she misunderstood. After all, the Doctor had taken off the ring, it was all just a big mistake. Or a plot devised by the Master to... to do what? Quite frankly, when UNIT had arrested him, he was just playing in a casino, winning a little too much, and grinning like a huge moron. The worst he'd done was to sing far too loudly about daffodils on the way to the prison and he hadn't even resisted arrest. That didn't look like someone with a plan, but she knew better than to rely on speculations when it came to that guy.

“Oh, come on, Doctor. You're being ridiculous. Is it such a dreadful fate in your eyes to be married?

\- Most certainly, yes!” they cried out, not noticing the flinch on his face, the sudden look of profound hurt that disappeared in the span of a second. “And do we really want to have this conversation in front of Martha?

\- Martha doesn't want you to have this conversation in front of her,” said Dr Jones, rubbing her temples with her lips pinched, trying to make sense of the whole situation. “Anyway, Doctor, married or not...

\- Decidedly not.

\- Married or not, we can't let this one run about. He's caused enough damage already. We can't trust that he's gone good or something.

\- Let me assure you that I haven't, Dr Jones. I simply have changed my areas of interests.

\- You went from reenacting slavery and hitting your wife to just being a generic arsehole? Congratulations, forgive me if I don't clap.”

There was a moment of silence between the three of them and, for the first time, Martha caught an expression other than smug triumph, sheer hatred or terror on the Master's face. Had it been anyone else, she'd have sworn it was something like... remorse. But all the remorse in the world wouldn't make up for what her family had been through and if she wasn't a revengeful person, she also knew that this creature's existence was a threat to everything living and breathing, and she wouldn't have that. She had to protect her family, her planet. If it had to be from him or even from the Doctor, she would do it.

Speaking of which, the Doctor was staring at the floor, avoiding her gaze. They _knew_ what he had done. They knew what he had done _to her._ To those she cared about. And still they were standing in front of her, trying to defend him, telling her not to kill him. What right did they have to do so? They couldn't possibly understand the kind of suffering she and her family had been through during the Year, nor could they decide of the fate of Earth. That was one of the reasons she had left their side, back in the days. They may have been fantastic in many ways but they were still an alien, an extraterrestrial being who only had a superficial understanding of humans and never quite considered them as their equals. She knew that all too well, but it still hurt to face it once again.

“We can't do that,” she murmured softly for the Doctor's benefit, feeling her eyes tear up again. “We can't let him go. And if you're taking his side, we can't let you go either.” It hurt to think of the Doctor trapped in such a facility or even killed, neutralized in any possible way, but maybe it was the only option. She had grown to regard her time with the Doctor as something very educational, an incredible opportunity that gave her more than she'd ever have hoped, but also as a cluster of hurt and undeserved pain. They had turned her into a maid when she could have been a governess or a shop clerk. They had ignored her, used her to mend their own wounds. Asked her to do what no one should ever do, especially not a Black woman; to save the world on her own. She had walked the Earth for them, told the tale of their grandeur, all of that in the hopes that they would finally throw Harold Saxon off his throne.

And now they had married him.


End file.
